


Shades of Blue Interludes ~ Red Bicycles and Christmases Forgotten

by bluedawn



Series: Shades of Blue [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedawn/pseuds/bluedawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look at you, beaming away like you're Father Christmas!"<br/>"Who says I'm not...red bicycle when you were twelve?"</p><p>The Eighth visits Earth to say goodbye before he goes to his death to end the Time War and runs into a little blonde human desperately in need of a happy Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Blue Interludes ~ Red Bicycles and Christmases Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> *Written before the 50th (which I have largely chosen to ignore, anyway)  
> * Here is my inspiration for Eight's outfit: http://media.photobucket.com/image/recent/mcgannlibrary/PMG/McGann%2520Library/bf67cbfe.jpg  
> *I had to rewatch the ending to that last episode mentioned several times to make sure I got it right and I bawled every time.

The Doctor stepped from his TARDIS to look around the busy streets of London where he had landed. He grimly surveyed the surrounding people, barely noticing the slowly falling snow. All around him was bustling humanity, all bright lights and obnoxious songs, these silly little people going about their dull, dreary, normal lives with no knowledge or concern of the war being fought far away across Time and space on their behalf, on everyone’s behalf.  
  
How he envied them.  
  
He raised a hand to run it over his closely shorn, militaristic haircut. He missed his long curls and his old clothes, feeling strangely wrong without them. His cheeks were shallow and gaunt and his eyes held little of the twinkle they once had merrily shown the world. The stiff, rough fabric of his Gallifreyan uniform rubbed against his skin uncomfortably and he sighed heavily. One would think he would be used to it by now; it’s been his world for almost fifty years.   
  
He wandered through the streets, choosing his path randomly, merely wanting to escape from the noise and the crowds, which was ironic because that’s why he had chosen to come here. He wanted to be reminded of why he was fighting this battle, of why he was being forced to commit this act that will surely kill them all or at least damn him for all eternity for killing everyone else.  
  
He limped slightly and his shoulder was bleeding still. His body hadn’t completely healed itself yet, the wounds from the battle of Arcadia still bothering him.  
  
Arcadia had just fallen and with it had gone the final hope of the Time Lords. He had barely made it out of the battle alive...most of Lords and Ladies under his command had not. With their army decimated, the Daleks still gaining power and the Time Lords descending into increasing madness around them, Romana had declared it time for one last, desperate maneuver. A maneuver only he could complete. They had fought and argued and she, of course, had won. He’d come here for one last look, a farewell to his beloved, favourite little green and blue world, come here to bolster the final courage to return to Gallifrey and complete what he had started, to end what they had begun.  
  
He’d chosen Christmas because it had always been a favourite time of his on Earth, all twinkling lights and happy people. He’d never had a proper Christmas, turkey dinner and presents and family, even if he’d often longed for one, watching from a distance as the humans shared it with each other.   
  
He found himself in a quiet little playground on the south side of London where a few netless basketball hoops and a tall, rusty slide dominated the landscape. He could still hear Christmas carols being piped into the street by stores open late on this Christmas eve, trying to pull in last minute shoppers. Suddenly he heard the soft crunch of snow to his left and, surprised, he turned, finding himself not alone on this deserted playground.  
  
A small blonde girl of about twelve was trudging through the snow toward the precarious looking swings, bundled up in a coat that looked too thin and boots that looked a bit too worn to do much good against the cold. He watched as she plopped onto the swing and determinedly began to move, her legs swinging powerfully as she propelled herself higher and higher.  
  
She was sad and lonely, he could tell that from the emotions pouring off her in that overwhelming human fashion he’d come to love. His hearts went out to the human, one of his favourite little aliens. He understood. He was sad and lonely, too.  
  
Gradually she let her momentum fade and the swing slowed to a stop. She used those boot-clad feet to draw patterns in the muddy snow. Suddenly, she glanced up across the park to look him straight in the eye, to his surprise. He felt that terrifying glance riot through his body, shaking him in a way he didn’t understand.  
  
He should go, he should leave. Bad things happened to men who hung around playgrounds late at night with young girls. Actually, more like bad things happened to young girls who hung around playgrounds late at night. But if he left, something might happen to her. One of those men, the bad ones, might actually show up. Little did he know, another lonely figure, this one in a great coat, was watching protectively from the shadows. And she was in pain. Seemingly of their own accord, his feet propelled him limpingly forward and he stopped beside her, lowering himself into the swing next to her.  
  
“Hello,” he said, quietly. What was he doing? Why was he talking to her? He should go. He’d seen the planet, watched the humans. It was time for him to go.  
  
“Hello,” she answered, eyeing him warily. Well, that was good. Maybe she wasn’t a complete idiot, then. He noticed that she didn’t seem to be wearing any gloves, her hands withdrawn into the thin sleeves of her coat with only the fingertips poking out.  
  
“Bit late to be out at the playground, don’t you think?” he asked.  
  
“You’re here, too,” she countered. Cheeky.  
  
“Could be dangerous,” he said.  
  
Her eyes narrowed at him and he saw the little hands in the sleeves clench to fists. Her features were difficult to make out in the darkness but for some reason, that reaction seemed to strike a chord in him, as if he’d seen that very expression before. “I can take care of myself,” she said, as icily as the air around them.  
  
“I’m sure you can,” he said, politely, looking away from her out at the Estate around them. The silence stretched on. “Not celebrating with family tonight?” he finally asked.  
  
“If you’re trying to figure out if someone will miss me if you kidnap me, the answer is yes,” she said, still icy but still there for some mysterious reason.  
  
“Kidnap you?” he asked, surprised. “Why would I want to do that?”  
  
“Dunno,” she said.   
  
“Well, you said it,” he retorted.  
  
“There are lots of tossers around here,” she answered eventually.  
  
“Dangerous, as I said,” he replied. “If you’re worried about my being a potential kidnapper, why are you still here talking to me?” he asked, sincerely interested in her answer, turning his head to watch her closely again. Humans were always such a delightful puzzle.  
  
“Dunno,” she said again, her shoulders rising and falling in the approximation of a shrug. “Just feels like you’re safe, I guess. Even if you are dressed like a nutter,” she added, eyeing his unfamiliar military uniform sideways with a hint of a grin.  
  
He chuckled out loud. Rassilon. How long had it been since he laughed at all? “Maybe I am,” he said with a quirk of an eyebrow.   
  
“Nah,” she said with a surety that surprised him. She transferred her arms from the cold chain links of the swing to her body, tucking her hands in her armpits. “To answer your question, my mum’s out at a party. Won’t be back until late tonight, if she comes back at all. And she’ll be pissed when she gets in anyway. Not much of a celebration,” she said, sadly, looking away from him.  
  
“What about your father?” he asked.  
  
“Dead,” she replied. The speed of her reply indicated it hadn’t been recent, but his hearts still broke a little for her, a sad, lonely child spending Christmas Eve on an abandoned playground.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said and her hazel eyes turned back to him, shining at him in the darkness with a warmth he didn’t understand.  
  
“What ‘bout you? What brings you here?” she asked, breaking the eye contact to focus on her swinging legs.  
  
“I’m alone,” he said quietly, just as sadly as she had.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she repeated to him and, unexpectedly, she reached a small, warm hand out to lay on his injured shoulder. He jumped at the sudden touch. Having spent the last half a century on stodgy, formal Gallifrey, it felt so strange to be touched like that, even through the fabric of his coat. Her compassion suddenly radiated through him, the physical contact amplifying her powerful human-y emotions.   
  
Feeling the dampness there, she withdrew in surprise, examining her fingers. “You’re bleeding!” she exclaimed, shooting up from her swing to stand in front of him.   
  
“It’s all right, I’m all right,” he said, soothingly. It would heal itself eventually and it didn’t matter anyway. He’d be dead soon and it wouldn’t matter.  
  
“But -”  
  
“I’m fine,” he said firmly. She studied him carefully for another moment and then settled back into her swing, holding out the now blood-soaked palm as if she wasn’t sure what to do with it. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief, his last clean one, as it were, and bent down to soak it in the snow. Once damp, he reached out tentatively to take her small, warm hand in his, intending to wash off his blood. The last thing she needed was to have her caring little hand stained with the blood of a murderer. As his left hand came out to hold hers, fingertips brushing the back of her hand, a sudden jolt went through him, as if he’d been electrocuted.   
  
Something, golden memories perhaps, snapshots of the past and future, flickered through his mind and her Timeline suddenly shone at him, bright and terrifying and then, just as quickly, it was all gone. He drew the hand back sharply and she watched him with huge eyes. What, on Gallifrey was that?  _Still think I’m not a ‘nutter’?_  he wanted to ask.  
  
They sat in silence for another minute, him motionless in the swing and her fidgeting, feet drawing patterns once more.  
  
“Any good presents to which you’re looking forward?” he asked to distract her, taking a deep breath and gently using the handkerchief to wipe down the blood, staining its once white countenance red and carefully not touching her skin again.  
  
She wrinkled her nose at his formal sentence structure for a moment, wiping the now damp and probably cold hand on her jeans, before answering. “No. Nuthin’ much,” she said, almost defensively. He remembered her thin coat, her worn boots and her lack of gloves.  
  
“Ah, but if you could have anything, what would it be?” he asked, genuinely. Why was he having this odd discussion about Christmas presents on a playground with a wisp of a human in his final hours?  
  
“To get out of here,” she said earnestly, faster than he had anticipated, enthusiastically moving her legs again and starting to swing.   
  
“Where would you go?” he asked, moving his legs to swing lightly with her.  
  
“Anywhere,” she said, wistfully looking up at the night sky. Ah, there was the wanderlust, the sense of adventure inherent in the humans he was drawn to.   
  
“Maybe someday you will,” he said. Suddenly he wished he could take her somewhere, show her something spectacular...one last fantastic adventure before his death.  
  
But no. She would have to stay here and live out the one adventure he could never have.   
  
“And there’s nothing else you want?” he asked.  
  
She put her feet down and skidded to a stop. “A bike, I guess,” she admitted finally after a moment’s thought. “Ruined mine last year. Stupid really,” she finished, sounding annoyed at herself and huffing out a sigh, her warm breath fogging up the cool air around them.  
  
“What did you do? Ride it down the slide?” he joked, a strange logical jump to make. She turned her head sharply to him and he wished he could make out her features better.  
  
“Yeah, actually,” she said.  
  
They stared at each other momentarily and, suddenly unnerved, he stood, cringing as he put weight on his bad leg. “You sure you’re all right?” she asked, following him up into a standing position.  
  
“I’m always all right,” he answered.   
  
“Nobody’s  _always_  all right,” she responded quietly, startlingly reaching forward to wrap his large, cool hand in hers. His body did not jolt again. Instead warmth radiated out from her palm into his, through his entire body and they simply stood, two figures in the gently falling snow under the stars, hand in hand. It seemed, just for a moment, like Time slowed down around him, letting him have this small, peaceful snapshot of Christmas on his favorite planet.  
  
“Happy Christmas,” the girl whispered, squeezing his hand before trotting away across the empty park, her boots crunching in the snow, leaving footprints as she went.  
  
He stared after her, watching as her small silhouette against the large, silvery moon disappeared up the staircase of the closest building and reappeared on the balcony facing him, one last glance back down in his direction before fading inside the flat there.  
  
On his way back to the TARDIS, he used his screwdriver on a cash point and, with a handful of unfamiliar bills, he was pulled into a Toy ‘R Us, still open and still piping Christmas tunes. Thank Gallifrey for the persistence of human commerce. Without a second thought, he purchased a shiny red bicycle and a large bow, hauling it through the deserted streets and up the stairs of that same building. He tied the ribbon on the handlebars and used his screwdriver to silently open the door, shoving the bicycle inside and quickly retreating down the stairs.  
  
He smiled to himself as he entered the TARDIS, listening to her hum happily around him and imagining the look that would grace the features of the little human’s face tomorrow morning. Look at him. Father Christmas. Must be why humans exchanged gifts, this bubbling feeling of warmth inside him. He always had wanted to experience Christmas.   
  
One last random act of kindness from the madman in his blue box.  
  
He never had caught her name, that curious little human who’d taken his hand and given him one happy little glimpse of a Christmas spent not alone.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
As the years passed, her little, red, well-loved bicycle rusted and wore out and eventually she forgot about Christmas in the park with the strange, sad soldier, the memory replaced with happier Christmases as Jackie sobered and Mickey took a more firm place in her life. It laid, forgotten, in the recesses of her mind until another soldier, this one in a battered leather jacket and a daft grin mentioned it in passing and then again, one blissful winter evening a year later, as she stood under the starry night sky once again hand-in-hand with a Christmas miracle of her very own.  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The memory of that little adventure, of rusty swings and warm hands, faded into the background of his mind as he returned for his grim task, as the Time War ended and so did that life. He would recall it later, once in his next life, grinning as everyone lived and at her assessment of him as Father Christmas, reeling with the realization that his little human friend in the park was none other than his little human best friend smiling at him now in the light of the Time Rotor. And then it would come twice in the next life, once as Time stopped for him again, after a his first real Christmas - complete with turkey and presents and _family_  - as she took his hand once more beneath the wintery stars in the not-quite-snow, giving him her warmth as his own. He would give her anything. And he would take her anywhere.  
  
And then he remembered it once more, standing in the snow, alone this time, with no hand to hold his, no warmth to stave off the chill, as his newest acquaintance assessed him and his life, formerly their life, as terrifying. He pictured what  _she_  would have done if he’d made it snow. Pranced around him, leaned into his arm, looked at him as if he were brilliant, smiled at him, tongue in teeth and taken his hand, dragging him off to dinner with her crazy mum and Rickey. The Christmas they would have had together this year. Should have had together this year.  
  
Donna was right. He did need someone. But not just to stop him.  
  
To keep him going.  
  
He needed  _her_...for now he knew her name.  
  
  
 _Her name was Rose._


End file.
